Katrina - There are no words!
A guest post from my Sister-in-Law, Deb Penning
I was so moved by her encounter, I asked her permission to post this.
On August 9th, 2005 I was in New Orleans on business staying in a hotel on Canal Street. The city was alive well into the morning hours! (I wasn’t on the streets! I had to go to the bathroom at 0330! Come on now! Be nice!)
On August 25th, 2005 I took pictures of Hurricane Katrina from the comfort and safety of Melbourne, Florida. Strong breezes and frequent downpours followed by blistering sun were the only evidence that I was in a hurricane! As I left the hospital where I was working, I was told that I could now say I had survived a hurricane! Quite a statement having grown up in a corn field in Central Illinois!
On Thursday, September 1st, 2005, a business trip to Houston ended.
Outside the airport I saw a site so moving I couldn’t look away.
It wasn’t something you see everyday waiting for a flight. I sneaked a few pictures of this man feeling guilty but at the same time, not guilty enough to stop.
Here was a gentleman attempting to dry out his legal papers and other documents by draping them over the bench outside the airport terminal.
The luggage carts told me they had just arrived in Houston. His family was inside enjoying the air conditioning, toilet facilities, food and water.
His granddaughter came out and tried to get him to go inside but he could not be persuaded to leave.
Separating sheet after sheet of saturated paper, he laid them carefully over the slats in the bench. Some were legal documents. Some had the logo of the State of Louisiana.
They used to pink, white, yellow and blue. The shades had run and some were white AND blue.
The color didn’t really matter. They all were wet. Water droplets actually formed and fell to the sidewalk as the paper hung from anything he could find!
He methodically separated each individual sheet of paper from stacks of soaking tree pulp.
Desperately wanted to say something to him, but what?
It was pretty obvious that the life he had built was gone. These papers were probably his certifications, insurance and memories.
Everything he had in his life that was associated with those documents was, for now, a soggy memory.
Again, I tried to walk away to go to my plane, but I couldn’t.
Easing over to him words escaped me, but I kept going anyway!
What do you say to someone who has just left his home submerged in flood waters over 300 miles away?
As I attempted to express my sympathy I told him that the word ‘sorry’ just didn’t feel strong enough.
What are the words for a situation like this? I couldn’t find them!
Told him that my heart went out to him. Confessed that I had been watching him working with his papers.
He seemed eager to talk. He quietly told me some of the details of his ordeal, shaking his head frequently.
His legs were bruised and gashed
They had lived in the City Park Neighborhood. Found a picture of this area on the web. It is attached.
When the levee broke, he had waded in water up to his neck collecting what he could of his “pre-Katrina” life.
He then gathered his family and they left New Orleans. I have no idea where they went after they left the city, but they wasted no time leaving Louisiana.
As I left for my flight I noticed that his wife was in a wheelchair. His children and grandchildren were eager to go to their Houston hotel for some rest.
This man’s Hurricane Katrina story is not one of living in the horror that was the Superdome with 30,000 strangers, corpses and no food or fresh water.
His story is in no way related to the destitution we now see on TV with looting, snipers and pleas for help.
At the same time, this man’s life has changed forever. The papers drying on that bench represent his past, his pride, his life and their importance tells me they will play a part in his future.
I hope it is bright and that he finds joy and happiness.
On September 6th, 2005 my business travels will take me to Missoula, Montana.
I want to take pictures of cloud formations, trees and mountains.
Copyright 2005 - Deb Penning